Trust

Hidden behind backyard deals
And covered with words
The whisper of truth
Is seldom spoken aloud


And while his land burned
And he worshipped his false gods
It was his people who stood
In sackcloth and ashes


Once a man of promise
Indeed of many promises
He failed to deliver
And so lost our trust


Can trust be restored
Do words still hold value
Once they have been used
In lies and deception


The murmur is building
Maybe the whisper
Once buried in rhetoric
Is to be shouted at last


As we the people
Speak for this land and its inhabitants
And demand more
Than just ashes and promises

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Drifting

Alone I drift
Through a life of change
Seeking no specific answers
Reacting only when necessary. 

The constant flow of time
Sometimes quicker
Other times painfully slow
Marks my passage. 

Sometime I drift
In thoughts
And dreams

Sometimes I drift
In simple black and white
And then in colour

Sometimes I drift
In meditation
and sometimes in confusion

Sometimes I drift
On clouds
Of ecstasy and pain

Sometimes I drift
And build
Fantastic structures

Sometimes I drift
Alone
And at peace

Sometimes I drift
In ideas
Of transcendence

Sometimes I just drift

More words

Am I a witch?
A word witch
Capable of casting
Protective spells 
To distract a troubled mind?
To make eyes smile
While faces weep.

To rip concentration
From the memory
Of a roadside accident
And highlight the colour –
The amazing colour –
Of that pedestrians hair. 

Could it be that I give freely
Or am I somehow paid by the simple act
Of writing these words,
Which distract me from
Personal demons and
Discomforting thoughts?

Could it be that my words
Are like the spray paint
Of a street artist?
Loved by some
Reviled by others,
A simple distraction to most.
 
Inside me,
Words are pleasure and pain
Joy and fear.
And the surprise is,
Those same words to you
Can create the opposite…

Move them around.
Let them settle.

Maybe then I will be paid
With a gentle smile
At the corner of your eyes.